


I Touch Myself

by Moosey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek Hale, But only a little, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bliss, Embedded Images, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Happy Derek, Happy Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation is the on going theme is seems, NSFW, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Random Sexcapades, Rimming, Top Stiles Stilinski, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-11-28 06:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosey/pseuds/Moosey
Summary: Tumblr pic inspired snapshots into Derek and Stiles sex life. Basically.





	1. Chapter 1

 

It had been a habit of Derek’s since he was a teenager. Without fail, at some point in the night he would roll over and sprawl on his stomach, one leg hiked up and the opposite arm tucked up under his pillow. Incidentally, it was also his favourite position for masturbating, glutes flexing as he humped, rubbing himself against soft cotton sheets. Invariably he’d end up shoving his hand down to grip himself, but he liked to control the movement with the rock of his hips rather than his hand. 

Shucking off his sweatpants, Derek crawled face first into bed, nuzzling his face against the downy soft pillow where he let loose a sigh from deep in his chest. One of contentment, not frustration and anger.It had taken him a long time, but he felt comfortable enough to lounge at home without feeling an irrepressible need to be on alert. 6 months in this particular house, but it was still a level of safety he hadn’t manage to reach during his almost 3 years back in Beacon Hills. 

It was early, barely 7.30pm, but he had nothing he needed to do and nowhere he needed to be. His belly was slightly distended from dinner, but not enough to make being on his stomach uncomfortable. He probably needed to change his sheets soon, but it was a familiar scent and not unpleasant. Still, he rubbed his face in them, reaching down and lightly rolling his softened dick between his fingers, tugging a little at his foreskin. It was an odd thing, really, but he found comfort in touching himself when he was limp like this. It made his muscles loosen and his breathing even out like very little else.

As always, it didn’t last long. Stimulation was stimulation, and he began to harden beneath his own fingertips, sluggish thrums of blood filling him up and taking away the malleability. Instead he cupped his balls, rubbing his thumb against the seam, squeezing just enough to get his hips shifting. The head of his cock was beginning to peek out from his foreskin, and the rasp of sheets over the sensitive skin was good enough to have him rocking forward for a repeat of the sensation. He slipped his hand away, reaching up to curl it under the pillow, fingers tucked up tight in a fist as he slowly ground his hips down against the mattress. There wasn’t anything intense or frantic about it, just a slow roll of his hips, his lower back stretching and contracting, his ass flexing to deepen the drive. It was well practiced and stoked a low-burning need in his gut.

He didn’t even try to contain the way his lips curled into a smile as the bed shifted, dipping under the weight of Stiles propping one knee onto the edge. Derek turned his head to look, blinking hazily up at the rapt expression on that beautiful face. Stiles’ eyes were russet dark and the intensity of his gaze raking over Derek’s back body was near palpable. Stiles licked his lips in an unconscious reaction to what he was witnessing, and it was so uncalculated and sexy that Derek’s hips gave a little twitch. It was that more than anything that seemed to jolt Stiles into action, that had him leaning forward and bracing a hand down by Derek’s ribs, his mouth immediately drawn to kiss the bared skin between Derek’s shoulder blades, over the whorls of the Triskele. It was a stretch of skin that was Stiles’ and Stiles’ alone, no one having touched Derek there for years. He could barely reach that part of himself either, so it truly did belong to Stiles, to kiss and lick, to stroke flittering fingertips along in meandering patterns, or to drag his nails down with violent abandon. 

Derek rolled his hips and moaned quietly at the way Stiles’ mouth was hot, dragging down his back. His tongue lolled over Derek’s skin just above his tailbone, a wet caress that he couldn’t help but shift against, using nothing but his body to try and urge Stiles’ wayward tongue down.

“Use your words, Derek,” Stiles mumbled against his skin, moving to nip at the top of his left cheek. Derek huffed and again tried to press into the touch, but all he got in response was Stiles moving away from him.

“Stiles,” he whined out, pressing his face into the pillow. His voice sounded soft and needy, vulnerable. He could be that now.

“I’m here,” Stiles said, coming back and pressing his weight down on Derek’s back. He was shirtless now, so it was skin against skin and the warmth of it made Derek groan. Their skin caught and rasped as Stiles slid down the length of Derek’s spine, moving back to that spot by his tailbone and pressing more kisses there. His hand was strong as it massaged at Derek’s ass cheek, and he finally took the hint of Derek hiking his leg a little higher. Stiles used his hold on Derek’s ass to spread him further, and the only warning Derek had was the huff of Stiles’ chuckle before he licked the flat of his tongue directly over Derek’s hole. 

He couldn’t have stayed his hips if he’d tried. He jerked, letting loose a gasp even as his hole contracted at the contact. And then he pushed back, offering himself up for Stiles’ mouth to feast on.

And feast he did. Stiles sucked at Derek’s balls first, building up the saliva in his mouth so he could dribble wetly over the pucker of Derek’s hole, using his thumb to massage his spit into the furrows of skin there, until Derek’s body caved and the tip of his thumb slipped just inside. Stiles licked around his own thumb for a moment before popping it free and pressing the stiff point of his tongue there instead, not fully in but just enough to send the sensitive nerves sparking jolts of pleasure that raced up Derek’s spine. He felt liquid under the assault, and yet simultaneously tense with the effort of chasing more sensation. More, more, _more._

“You’re so greedy,” Stiles breathed, sounding reverent. He pressed his lips to Derek in a chaste kiss that somehow felt even dirtier than him trying to shove his tongue inside Derek’s body. It turned open-mouthed and sloppy, Stiles humming out little sounds that vibrated against the thin skin of Derek’s asshole in muted waves, his tongue massaging and retreating, lips sucking at skin and dragging softly. And all the while Derek kept humping his hips against the bed, Stiles’ riding out the movement and not once breaking contact.

It was, in a word, incredible.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groaned, writhing against the two points of pleasure.

Stiles grabbed him by the hips and pulled him up onto his knees, face still pressed down against the pillow. It was Stiles’ pillow, and the smell was amping him up further. Derek whined at the loss of stimulation on his cock, but Stiles braced himself on one hand and curled his other around Derek’s heavy, straining erection, giving him something to fuck in to. Derek groaned throatily in thanks, using his hips to drive himself through the tunnel of Stiles’ grip. He reached one hand back and urged Stiles mouth closer, holding it tighter against his ass. Stiles’ answering groan was just as desperate as Derek’s, his mouth working with more urgency, and it was that sound and that fervour that had the muscles in Derek’s legs and groin tightening, until he felt he might snap.

The tension reached its unbearable peak, and broke sharply; the release that rolled through Derek in sharp pulsing waves had him spilling wetly into Stiles’ hand as his hips spasmed ungracefully and his mouth hung open around pained moans and grunts. He was shocked by it, like he always was, rasping out “Oh fuck!” as the last wave of pleasure hit, rolling back and leaving his muscles wrung out and shaking. Derek fell forward, his lower stomach smearing through a stray dribble of his come.

He’d give a shit when he could breath properly again.

“Holy shit Der,” Stiles said frantically behind him. The sound of him jerking himself filled the room, and Derek could smell that the only lubrication Stiles was slicking the way with was the handful of come he’d coaxed from Derek’s body.

Derek nuzzled the pillow lazily, and shifted back to his initial position, this time reaching behind himself and spreading his own ass cheeks open for Stiles. He knew he’d still be all shiny and wet from Stiles’ tongue, just like he knew that this was all Stiles’ would need. “Come on Stiles, please,” he begged, canting his hips a little and turning his face to watch as best he could. He didn't want to miss this.

Stiles was on his knees, staring, pants open and gaping as he worked his dick in his hand, muscled forearms flexing beautifully with the motion. A pink flush was darkening his chest and throat, and his breath visibly caught in his chest the moment before his orgasm hit. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasped out quickly, muscles contracting as the first pulse landed hot and thick on Derek’s spread ass. “Oh Jesus,” Stiles whined, tipping his head back and baring his throat, hips jerking as his cock kicked in his hand and spat out more thick spurts of come over Derek.

He sat back on his heels when he was fully spent, eyes squeezed shut like he needed a moment of isolation to get himself together. Derek could understand that; it always felt that intense when they were together. Stiles finally huffed out an amused breath and his mouth split into a grin just a moment before he opened his dancing eyes. “I give it 3 more minutes before you start to feel so incredibly gross,” he said, using a finger to poke at the puddles of come already cooling on Derek’s skin.

“Well you doing that isn’t helping any,” Derek groused, grabbing for Stiles’ wrist, tugging him down. His voice was hoarse and he sounded sated and slurred.

Stiles yelped and twisted away, nearly tumbling off the bed instead of landing squarely on Derek like he should have. “Dude! My pants will get all spunky!”

“What kind of dumbass gets in bed wearing pants?”

“The kind of dumbass who walks into his bedroom intending to ask his boyfriend if he wants any of that delicious brownie chunk ice cream and is confronted with a bare naked ass instead! And oh my God Derek, have you _seen_ your ass? Baseball players across the country would weep with envy at the sight of your ass.” Stiles was the only person he knew who somehow got even chattier after an orgasm. Derek was near non-verbal, but Stiles’ mouth could just run and run, until he was suddenly asleep mid-sentence. It was one of Derek’s favourite things in the world. The fond little smile on his face was familiar feeling, but he kept it half hidden in the pillow. “Anyway, want a hand cleaning up?” Stiles asked, a mischievous grin accompanying the waggling eyebrows. He was fucking ridiculous, and perfect, and there was nothing in the world Derek wanted more.

 “Clean up and ice cream,” Derek said decisively, watching Stiles kick his way out of his pants and boxers, leaving them crumpled on the floor as always.

Stiles paused with one foot still wrapped up in his clothing and looked up at Derek, blinking owlishly. “I um. Might have left it on the counter.” Derek huffed a sigh and heaved himself up from the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. He rolled his eyes at the way Stiles eyes flickered down to watch the flex of his muscles, a habitual thing he probably didn’t even know he was doing anymore, but he always looked, without fail. Derek perhaps crossed his arms more than was strictly necessary, but neither of them mentioned that either. Still, he huffed and he sighed, and Stiles plastered an innocent look on his face. “In my defence though. _Ass_ , Derek.”

“Wow, you’re an idiot,” Derek replied, hauling Stiles in close with his arms winding around Stiles’ waist. He ducked his head and pressed his face against Stiles’ neck.

“Yeah, I love you too Big Guy.”

 


	2. Creeper Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek watches Stiles

 

 

Derek rocked his weight forward on the balls of his feet, one palm flat on the ground to stabilise his crouch. The light filtering from the window was low, a soft yellow glow that cast an intimate haze over everything in the empty room.

He was hidden in enough shadow that no one would notice him from the street below, and he’d masked his presence at this window enough to know the occupant wouldn’t spot him unless he wanted to make himself known.

He heard Stiles approaching long before he saw him, even through the closed pane of glass. His footfalls were muffled, mostly because of his habit of dragging his socked feet rather than picking his feet up, and his heartbeat was steady and familiar. When he appeared, he was clad in a rust coloured t-shirt and pale cotton shorts, his hair fluffy with the lack of hair product, and sticking up akimbo thanks to his habit of tugging on it awkwardly, brushing his long fingers through it or scruffing his palms over his scalp.

Stiles hesitated at the threshold to the room, one hand curling over the doorframe as he leaned bodily backwards as though listening to the quiet of the house, checking for any sounds where there should be none. Stiles was alone tonight, his dad working a night-shift and not due back until the early morning. The room looked as it always had, for the most part. The closet was emptier, the bookshelves more sparse, but the blue plaid coverlet was familiar, and the posters adorning the walls were all the same.

Seemingly satisfied with whatever he was hearing, Stiles finally padded into the room, scratching absently at his stomach under his shirt, baring little slivers of pale skin where the shirt tugged up around his wrist, and he used his foot to kick the door closed with a loud bang; louder than he’d been expecting if the slightly sheepish wince was anything to go by. Derek huffed a quiet noise and barely restrained his eye-roll. Instead he kept watching Stiles as he chewed on his bottom lip and dug around in the small backpack slung down by the foot of the bed.

He crawled on to the bed then, flopping onto his back when his head was in the general vicinity of the pillow, and absently palmed himself through his sweatpants, squeezing his flaccid dick through the soft material. The motion looked familiar and comfortable, and it was of no surprise to anyone who’d ever met him that Stiles was someone who would absently fondle himself when alone, without any real intent behind it. He did this for a little while longer, seemingly lost in thought, before he abruptly sat forward and peeled his shirt off, exposing the strong lines of his back, spine protruding slightly as he curled forward to toss the shirt at the foot of the bed. Derek blinked slowly, shifting his weight again, watching carefully as Stiles lowered himself back down and began massaging himself with more purpose now, still through his shorts. Even as Derek watched on, Stiles’ dick began to fill and harden, the shape becoming more pronounced and causing the loose material of the shorts to pucker and strain, keeping him constrained at an awkward angle that made Derek simultaneously wince in sympathy and his mouth flood with saliva, so prominent was the outline of it now.

It was worse still, when Stiles shoved a hand down his shorts, sucking in his stomach to make room for his arm as he fished around and grabbed his dick, tugging it upright so it lay at a less intense angle, flat against his right hip. He didn’t waste any time in gripping and squeezing it though the shorts again, bringing his spare hand up to thumb at his nipples lightly. They were sensitive, Derek knew, and Stiles barely had to roll the pad of his thumb over the hard tips for his breath to catch and his abs to contract at the sensation.

It was beautiful, how responsive he was to the ministrations of his own hands.

Derek had been taken aback at first, how quiet Stiles could be like this. He’d expected him to be loud, brash, and chatty, but Stiles let loose his pleasure with quiet groans and his mouth hanging slack around shaking breaths. Right now he was starting to slowly rock his hips up against his palm, flicking the button on his fly open with dexterous fingers and tugging down the zipper so the placket gaped open. His skin was bare beneath, revealing Stiles had been sans underwear. Derek growled low in his throat, thinking of the time spent with the pack earlier in a different light now. If he’d known…

For all his extroverted behaviours, Stiles was a surprisingly insecure person. If you spent enough time in his company, you learned to decipher the self-deprecating humour for the honesty that it was. So it was no surprise to see Stiles slide an arm over his own stomach, like he was protecting his underbelly. For as long as he’d been watching Stiles, he’d never once seen Stiles touch himself without an arm curled over his stomach. He wasn’t ripped like many of the pack, didn’t build muscle as easily as breathing, but he was lean and sinuous where Derek was bulky. His body wasn’t hairless, in fact his forearms were surprisingly hairy, but his torso wasn’t dusted as liberally as Derek’s own. The things that Stiles saw as lacking, Derek found himself wanting to touch and taste, to lick those swathes of bare skin and to taste everything Stiles had to offer. To feel those lean muscles moving under pale skin, to suck on the juts of Stiles’ hipbones, to bite the hollows by his groin.

Stiles’ hand slid down over those hips and hollows now, pausing minutely with his fingers just tucked beneath the fabric, hidden from sight. Derek’s own arousal was humming through his blood now, anticipation curling tight in his gut as though it were his own cock waiting for the brush of Stiles’ fingers. He was holding his breath, unable to blink, nostrils flaring to try and get even the slightest scent from the room. He seriously toyed with the idea of smashing the window so he could gulp down greedy lungfuls of Stiles’ scent, but logic won out and had him carefully easing the window open, as silently as he could manage. Just enough for the sweet scent of Stiles waft out the window, underlaid with the tang of his precome.

Stiles scratched his fingers through the hair around his groin, teasing himself and destroying Derek in the process. He was pulled taut, leaning forward until his forehead nearly pressed against the window, barely aware of the need to stay hidden from sight. When Stiles finally gripped himself, baring his erection to the air, pinkened head visible over the fist he had curled tight around himself, Derek thought he might sob. A weeping tear of precome was squeezed from the slit, and Stiles swiped it with his thumb, coating himself in the glistening slick that had Derek’s own cock leaking in sympathy. Stiles squeezed and played with slicking himself up for a few moments, rubbing his thumb to that sensitive spot under the head and tilting his head back to bare his throat, eyes closed but with his face turned towards the window, granting Derek the perfect view of how the light his the planes of his face. His pink mouth was opening and closing, alternately going slack before he’d press his lips together tight and repeating. His touch wasn’t gentle; he patted around for the lubricant he’d fished from his bag earlier and gracelessly squirted a few generous pumps over his dick without removing his hand, flinching at the cold liquid hitting his flesh but simply sliding his hand over the head with a twist to spread the lube in a practiced motion.

Derek couldn’t help himself, sliding the window open further and biting his lip against a moan at how much he could hear and smell without the glass barrier between them. Stiles’ movements were slightly frantic now, his breathing heavy and punctuated with whines, fist making a wet clicking sound with each pass over the flared head. Derek watched Stiles’ hips join the party, abs flexing as he fucked up into his fist, curling his claws into the wooden windowsill to keep himself still as he watched, assaulted on all fronts by Stiles' increasingly desperate pleasure. The lube he was using smelled sweet, like vanilla syrup, and Derek thought that wrapping his lips around Stiles and swallowing him down with that sticky sweetness might just be the best dessert in the world. He couldn’t contain his groan that time, the sound wrenched from his chest and reverberating into the room.

Stiles paused, stiffening at the unexpected sound, but before he could even open his eyes Derek was across the room and on the bed, crouched over Stiles and sucking him down. Stiles grunted then, eyes flying to meet Derek’s as he opened his mouth and came soundlessly, not once looking away. His dick was kicking in Derek’s mouth, pulsing out hot spurts of come that Derek swallowed greedily, moaning around the hard cock that he was still suckling on, pulling every last drop he could have from Stiles. He pulled off when Stiles was drained dry, and nuzzled his face into his groin, kissing and sucking on the softening shaft and inhaling deeply. He was yanking his own jeans open with rough movements, hips humping against nothing until he’d reached in and grabbed his own dick. It almost hurt, the sharp lance of sensation at finally touching himself, but he barely had time to register it before Stiles was shoving him down on his back and grabbing at Derek’s cock with his still lube slicked hand. It took less than three firm strokes and Derek was gasping so hard his throat hurt with it, bowing his back off the bed as he came messily over his own stomach and Stiles’ hand. Stiles slowed his movements, letting his weight drop half on top of Derek and half to the side, still breathing heavily from his own orgasm just moments before, and his thumb traced patterns over the head of Derek’s softening dick, just enough to send shudders racing through his body. Stiles liked touching Derek’s flaccid dick for comfort too.

“Holy shit,” Stiles finally said, face mashed against Derek’s neck after they’d both kicked off the remainder of their pants. Derek snorted, satisfied down to his very bones. “We are so doing that again. Multiple times.” Derek pulled Stiles closer, pleased at how their legs tangled together, pleased with how Stiles slung an arm over Derek’s torso, heedless of the wet patches now splattering Derek’s shirt, and wiggled like he could somehow get even closer. “I knew you had a voyeurism kink. I _knew_ it. You couldn’t be more obvious with the lurking and the creeping.” Stiles gave up trying to burrow under Derek, and instead clambered on top of him, bracing himself with his elbows on either side of Derek’s head so their faces were inches apart.

“You’re never going to let that go are you? You haven’t been in high school for nearly six years, and I haven’t _kept an eye on you all_ for longer than that.”

“Ha! Is that what you’re calling it now?” Stiles laughed, dropping his head down to bite Derek’s jaw. “Creeper wolf.”

Derek sighed loudly, but ran his palm up the line of Stiles’ spine, coming to rest his hand around the back of his neck. “Why do I love you again?”

“Because, against all odds and appearances, you’re actually pretty smart,” Stiles smirked, nipping his teeth against the tip of Derek’s nose, making him wrinkle it up unhappily. “And I’m a catch.”

“Sure you are,” Derek said to placate Stiles, giving him a patronising pat on the ass too. Still, he could almost smell the smugness radiating from Stiles.

“Hey Der?” Stiles mumbled after a while, after Derek had shed his shirt and they’d both manoeuvred themselves under the covers only to end up with Stiles sprawled on top of him like a dead weight once again.

“Yeah?”

“Happy anniversary.”

Derek glanced at the digital clock over on the desk. It was 12.07. “Happy anniversary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blaaaah this took me too long to get around to, and then I wrote it in one fell swoop without editing/beta-ing/anything-ing. It's pretty much raw. But pretty picture!
> 
> P.s - these aren't really linked or anything, I'm just writing based on the image...


	3. Meet Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \-- As always, unrelated to the previous chapters--
> 
> Derek and Stiles encounter each other at work, and turn out to be a damn good fit. Featuring Bottom!Derek and Toppy!Stiles.

[ ](http://simplicityhurts.tumblr.com/post/138865572960)

 

Barely any time had passed but he was already painfully bored and fidgeting as quietly as he could manage, tucked away in one of the recessed alcoves of the meeting room, and cursing Scott for waking him up ridiculously early that morning by tripping loudly over a chair with the ungainliest of sounds. Yet people considered Stiles to be the clumsy one with two left feet, _right_. He didn’t even know why he had to be here; he was a _server_ for God’s sake, not a… whatever these people milling about were. Richie McRich types, all discussing a fundraiser for something or other. The Chair of the meeting, Talia Hale, seemed to be okay, was smiley and didn’t talk to Stiles in a slow and meticulous voice like he mightn’t understand her, what with him being on the wait staff and all, but surely he could just duck in and out of the room when he was needed.

Not that he had a chip on his shoulder or anything, contrary to how it might sound. He just found it unbearably frustrating that these people could all talk in terms of spending tens of thousands on a single fundraiser – and that was before actual donations and auctions were involved – and yet his dad and the Sheriff department were struggling to afford their shitty sub-par equipment, even though they were the ones actually out on the street trying to help people first hand.

The recent close call his dad had just had thanks to a defective radio, _might_ be colouring Stiles’ opinion. Maybe.

Then again, so might the fact that 2 of the women had more or less dropped their coats on his head like he was a piece of furniture. He probably had less value to them than a coat stand.

Soon, Talia Hale cleared her throat from the front of the long table and the rest of the room made their way to their chairs, pouring themselves glasses of water – clear glass bottles of both still and sparkling dotted the tables at convenient intervals, interspersed with low clusters of white flowers because the hotel was sure going all out for this – settling in to begin their discussions. His phone was in the front pocket of his pressed pants, set to vibrate on alarm so he’d know when it was time to go and prepare coffees and refreshments, and then lunch when the time rolled around. Talia welcomed everyone with an unfailingly genuine smile and general pleasant countenance, and throughout the course of the morning managed to keep all the egos in the room in check without ever stepping on toes or putting anyone out. Whereas Stiles would have argued with everyone about everything, complete with rolled eyes, before giving up and leaving in a fit of frustration. No, Talia Hale played the room effortlessly.

And from the little wink she surreptitiously threw Stiles’ way, she knew it too. He decided then and there that he liked Talia Hale.

After a couple of hours of talking, and talking, and some more talking, the side door opened with a little click and a man slipped into the room, heading to one of the few empty chairs and quietly sitting with his back to Stiles. He slipped off his leather jacket with a minimum of fuss and draped it over the back of the seat, twisting himself around to get it positioned correctly, and Stiles found himself looking at a surprisingly young and attractive man. He blinked rapidly at the sight of pale eyes offset by dark stubble and brows that slashed across the man’s forehead in a severe line. He wasn’t scowling as such, but he did look like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet than in this room, and Stiles could relate. He made a little face, like “ _dude, this blows_ ,” and the man raised an eyebrow with impressive facial control, agreeing and commiserating with the twitch of a brow and the hint of a smirk.

“Derek, glad you could make it,” Talia said pointedly, interrupting the moment and drawing all attention to the man – Derek – who turned away to face the room. He didn’t speak, but ducked his head slightly in acknowledgement, and that was apparently good enough for Talia to continue on.

Meanwhile, Stiles licked his slightly chapped lips and let his eyes roam appreciatively over the expanse of Derek’s shoulders, broad and strong beneath a black long-sleeved, cotton tee. When he dropped his head forward, the bared nape of his neck looked strangely vulnerable, and Stiles was hit with the sudden urge to lean over and cover Derek’s back, to press his lips and tongue and teeth to that tanned skin. It was indicative not only of how long it’d been since he’d had any company other than his right – and sometimes left because Stiles liked to switch things up – hand, but also of how ridiculously attractive the other man was, that a few inches of perfectly innocent skin had Stiles’ libido perking up.

Not that it was making the meeting any more interesting, or the time go any faster. He couldn’t even sit there indulging in illicit fantasies because a) it felt skeevy, and b) his pants were _tight_. He was hyperaware of the guy though, dimly noticing every time he so much as shifted his weight in his seat, and he got a little lost in peripherally watching him. So much so that the vibration of his phone against his thigh jolted him back into awareness and he jerked in his seat, knocking his elbow into the corner of the alcove with a muted thud and a bitten off curse. All the eyes in the room were on him within a split second, some looking disdainful, some curious, and one pale green pair looking thoroughly amused. Stiles flushed, heat flooding his face and upper body, and he just knew he was pinkening up in blotches all over his face.

“I uh, I’ll just get refreshments.” He stood with as much dignity as he could muster (big shock, he couldn’t muster up much), and shuffled off out of the room to the break room where he filled carafes with freshly pressed coffee and heated water for those who preferred tea. Milk was dispensed into glass bottles that had been cooling in the fridge, and an array of pastries and cakes from a local artisan bakery were arranged on tiered stands. He might have been delaying heading back into the room, but he told himself he just wanted to do a good job as he fussed with the frou-frou little cakes.

“Need a hand with that?”

Stiles startled at the unexpected interruption and knocked one of the cakes from its perch, grimacing at it landed with a plop of smeared frosting on the table, and it’s little pink fondant flower was crushed. “Shit.” He peered over his shoulder, and was unsurprised to find that it was Derek standing in the doorway, because of course it would be him. A grin had broken out on his stupid face, and it made Stiles want to cry it was so beautiful, even though it was at his expense. Like a warm summers day when everything is a little brighter and a little better. “I’m not usually this clumsy,” Stiles insisted, trying to scoop up the mess he’d made, and instead just getting his fingers coated in sticky sweet vanilla icing.

“I’d hope not, otherwise you’re in the wrong profession.”

Stiles snorted inelegantly, not sure if it was at Derek’s words or the idea of his job being a _profession_. He turned to search for a napkin to wipe up the mess on his hands, and stilled to find Derek standing close behind him. Stiles watched dumbly as Derek shook out a cloth napkin and took Stiles’ sticky hand in his own, getting frosting on his own thumb in the process, wiping up the mess with competent hands. He smelled like understated woodsy aftershave and Stiles wanted to bury his face in the crook of his neck and just get drunk on that scent. “Thanks,” he mumbled, mouth drier than it had any right to be.

Derek smiled again, a small quirk of his lips, and released Stiles’ hand. He brought his thumb up to his mouth and sucked off the wayward frosting, eyes sparkling with mischief as they locked on Stiles’ face. “Vanilla. Not usually my thing but…” he shrugged and Stiles’ dick seriously contemplated chubbing up in his pants without any real provocation. Just one intense twitch of zinging _want_. It needed a stern talking to; maybe when Stiles’ brain could function again.

It helped when Derek stepped back, piling white cups and saucers on the rolling table alongside everything else with an economy of movement that Stiles and his twitchy limbs envied. He drew the line at Derek pushing the cart into the room though, figuring he’d already made a shitty enough impression on most of the people in there, though he was grateful when Derek held the door open for him. The meeting-goers descended on the table, trilling about the selection and Stiles busied himself making cups of tea and coffee for everyone. He’d convinced himself he’d been reading too much into things by the time the meeting resumed, as evidenced by the fact Derek hadn’t so much as glanced his way once since returning to the room, and looked to be in deep conversation with Talia by the podium. And now that Stiles got a good look at them standing with their heads bowed together, he realised they looked really alike, with the same colouring and sharp straight nose. On Talia, it made her look regal; on Derek, it made him look like a walking wet-dream, though the very real memory of Derek’s lips wrapped around his own thumb might be swaying Stiles slightly. The lingering glances from almost every woman in the room said otherwise.

Derek seemed oblivious to it all, and as the meeting resumed he sprawled slightly in his seat, legs long in front of him and under the table. He clasped his hands low behind the chair, ostensibly to stretch out his chest or something, and Stiles nearly swallowed his tongue, seeing with vivid clarity Derek splayed like that with his hands bound neatly, maybe with shiny black bondage tape, or perhaps something sturdier like leather cuffs. As long as it kept his hands tied, Stiles’ wasn’t fussy. He wasn’t the most conventional of Doms – in fact he wouldn’t even call himself a Dom, and his occasional bedroom proclivities didn’t extend to any other elements of his life, but he had a toppy steak a mile wide and Derek would look amazing laid out and helpless.

…And he needed a new train of thought, _stat_. Polite company and all that.

Besides, he really doubted Derek would run that way. Submissive guys were few and far between, and the ones Stiles had met all tended to be waifish and lean like he was. He’d had far more luck with women in that regard, and sure he was assuming based on stereotypes, but stereotypes existed for a reason in Stiles’ (admittedly limited) experience.

Lunch passed mostly without incident, though every time Stiles and Derek caught each other’s eyes it made Stiles want to squirm and he was sure now he wasn’t imagining the interest that shone through whenever Derek looked at him, which was often. Even when Stiles didn’t look up, he could feel Derek’s eyes on him. It went without saying that any interest was reciprocated, and slowly Stiles’ stopped feeling like a skittish colt and felt himself calming down and slipping in to a more confident headspace, because in spite of how out of Stiles’ league he was, Derek seemed to be into him. He smirked when he caught Derek’s looking at him, his movements were smoother and less awkward, and he was aware of his body in a pleasantly centring way. When he was clearing plates from around the room, he passed behind Derek with a steady hand against his lower back, guiding him to take a half step forward so Stiles had space to walk behind him. He was gratified that Derek first leaned into the touch and then let himself be moved without resistance, and though it meant nothing really Stiles would take his happies where he could get them.

He didn’t think he’d ever see the day when he’d be sad to finish work after lunch, but here it was. He stuffed the used dishes in the dishwasher, prepped a final round of teas and coffees, and made his way out of the meeting room after shaking Talia’s hand. He dragged his feet about it, hoping Derek would step back in the room from wherever he’d disappeared to in time for Stiles to say goodbye, but luck wasn’t on his side today. He retrieved his backpack and coat from storage, reading through his missed messages and Snapchats – mostly Scott holding different cute baby animals up to his face with pleading requests that Stiles let him keep one. The answer was still a resounding no. They both worked and studied awkward enough hours that having a pet wasn’t fair, and who’d have thought Stiles’ would grow up to be the responsible one? Anyway, he couldn’t linger forever, so he reluctantly made his way out to the lobby, feeling a little sorry for himself.

“You’re leaving.”

It wasn’t a request so much as a statement, but Stiles nodded anyway, turning around to face Derek where he’d appeared from one of the hallways. Stiles took a moment to drink in the sight of him, just in case it was his last chance. “I’m not needed anymore,” Stiles replied, slipping his phone in his pocket. Derek frowned and looked like he was trying to find something to say. Like he wanted to keep Stiles around a little longer, maybe. “Am I?”

They both knew what he meant, and he’d surprised himself with his own boldness, but he didn’t regret it when it had Derek looking somewhat longingly at Stiles. A flash of pink tongue darted out, wetting Derek’s bottom lip. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Stiles nodded slightly and rocked his weight on his heels. “How much longer do you think you’ll be in there?”

Derek scratched at his cheek, glancing over towards the closed door of the meeting room. “I could leave now. No one would care.”

“Not even your Mom?”

“I’m not a child,” Derek said wryly, levelling a sardonic look at Stiles. Stiles snorted and dragged a pointed gaze down Derek’s body. He’d noticed. “Come home with me,” Derek blurted, once again a statement and not a question. And once again, Stiles found himself nodding, enthusiastically.

“Yeah, yes. Okay. Lead the way.”

Derek slipped past him without touching, and Stiles followed him out to the parking lot. He wasn’t surprised when Derek stopped by a sleek black muscle car, unlocking the doors with an unobtrusive beep. The interior smelled clean and a little like Derek’s aftershave, and the leather was buttery soft under Stiles’ fingertips. The engine woke with a purr, totally unlike the juddering choke of Stiles’ jeep.

“I just realised,” Derek said abruptly, tightening his hand on the wheel. “I don’t know your name.”

Stiles smirked at him and didn’t reply. A part of him liked Derek not knowing. It made it feel sexier.

“I usually at least try to know the names of the people I hook up with,” Derek prompted

“Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Derek repeated sceptically.

“Yes, Stiles. My real name doesn’t exist outside the walls of my dad’s house. And maybe his office.”

“Fair enough.” Derek pulled out of the parking spot and guided the car from the lot. “Nice to meet you then Stiles.”

Stiles grinned and couldn’t help himself. “Well, I’m nice to meet.”

“Oh God,” Derek mumbled, rolling his eyes.

They made it to his apartment within 10 minutes, and whilst they hadn’t been uncomfortably silent in the car, they hadn’t exactly been chatty either, and the reality of what he was doing was starting to hit Stiles. He had two options. He could either go with the flow and have what would undoubtedly be a very damn good time with Derek, or he could freak out and fuck this up. Choices, choices…

Derek let them in to a loft apartment with a huge bank of windows and an open plan space, even down to the king sized bed against the exposed brick back wall. It was stylishly urban and industrial, and it fit everything he’d seen so far of Derek. Clean lines and quintessentially masculine. The sliding metal door closed with a quiet snick that reverberated through the room in its finality, and Stiles found himself standing still and watching Derek walk into the room, putting his keys in a small bowl in the corner where kitchen met breakfast bar, and then it was like he just stalled out. Stopped with his back to Stiles and his head lowered, like he was bracing himself for something. He looked vulnerable, and Stiles found himself wanting to anchor Derek to the moment, so he stepped up close, eyes on that swath of skin he’d so wanted his mouth on earlier. Instead, he slid his hand against Derek’s upper back, stopping only when his palm was pressed against warm bare skin and his fingers were curled lightly so he was holding the back of Derek’s neck.

He felt the tremor run through Derek, and the tension he’d been holding visibly melted out of his body, thrilling Stiles’ to the core, and just like that he knew what he was doing. He walked around Derek until they were face to face, not touching but for the hand Stiles still had wrapped around Derek’s nape, and their gazes clashed, both uncertain but hopeful. Oh so hopeful.

“Is this okay?” Stiles’ voice was quiet but firm, and his thumb brushed lightly against Derek’s neck, against the light dusting of stubble under his jaw. He both felt and saw Derek nod, and so he stepped closer, backing Derek up against the breakfast bar. “Let me know if anything I do isn’t. Okay?”

Derek nodded again and his hands came up to rest lightly at Stiles’ hips.

“I need to hear you say it Derek.”

“I’ll tell you if I don’t like something. I’ll say stop.”

Stiles inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “Okay, good,” he murmured, finally leaning in towards Derek’s mouth. They both paused, just a hairsbreadth from each other’s lips, revelling in the anticipation that sparked between them. Derek’s fingertips dug into Stiles’ sides, waiting patiently for Stiles to give him what he wanted. He waited beautifully, his eyes such an impossible molten green and his gaze never once wavering.

The moan that penetrated the air when their lips finally met in a firm kiss could have come from Derek, or Stiles, or both. He couldn’t say with any certainty, but he could say that this kiss was worth the wait. Derek’s mouth was soft and pliable, his stubble a harsh rasp in contrast. For all his obvious physical strength, Derek went boneless, body sinking towards Stiles’ and his hands clutching like he needed a good grip to keep himself upright.

Stiles slid a hand up to fist a loose handful of Derek’s hair, using the grip to urge his head back, jaw tilting up at a jutting angle and exposing the lines of his throat for Stiles’ mouth to latch onto. He ran his mouth softly over the stubble, just enjoying the prickly sensation on his lips, then dragged them lower where the skin was smooth. Where his tongue could lave against salty skin without interruption. Derek stuttered out a breath and swallowed heavily, causing a rippling motion in his throat that Stiles followed avidly with his mouth, stopping to suck at the skin just above the hollow of Derek’s throat.

“Stiles,” Derek pled quietly, rolling his hips forward to find some kind of friction, asking for permission without words. Stiles allowed it for a moment, and then stilled Derek’s body with a hand against his lower belly, pushing his spine against the lip of the breakfast bar.

“Stay,” he whispered, mouthing the word against Derek’s jaw. He slid his hands under the hem of Derek’s shirt, bunching it up around his wrists as he danced his fingertips lightly down the cut of Derek’s oblique’s, gratified at how his hips twitched forward instinctively before he caught himself and stopped. “So good Derek,” Stiles praised, rubbing his thumbs in the valleys of Derek’s hipbones, just under his waistband. His thick erection was trapped against the length of his thigh, making Stiles’ mouth water at just the thought of it.

“Stiles, please.” Derek’s breathing was picking up, and he groaned when Stiles took his mouth again, sounding impossibly grateful for such a small thing. His body was a line of tension as he fought to stay still, and he was _perfect_.

“Get on the bed Derek,” Stiles ordered, his voice thick and heavy with lust, pulling back so there was scant space between them. “Get on the fucking bed.”

Derek skirted around him and walked at a measured pace, being careful with his steps. He paused and looked to Stiles, hand on the hem of his shirt. “Should I?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you when I want you naked.”

Derek swallowed visibly and nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands braced at his sides. He winced and shifted on the spot, his hard on obviously uncomfortable and pinching, but Stiles hadn’t told him he could touch it yet, and Derek was evidently good at reading the cues. This was Stiles’ show.

“I’m gonna fuck you Derek,” Stiles said as he walked over, using the heel of his hand to ease the ache in his cock as he approached. Derek nodded fervently, eyes glued to where Stiles was touching himself. “And you’re not gonna come until I let you,” he added, almost casually, belying the fact that he was desperate to have Derek submit to him in this way.

Derek’s eyes snapped to his, wide and frantic. Excitement, nerves, lust,... Stiles catalogued them all. “Any objections?”

“Fuck Stiles, I want…”

“What do you want?” Stiles asked, his voice tight with need.

“I want that,” Derek breathed, hands curling into fists around the bedspread.

“Lie back,” Stiles said shakily, closing his eyes and taking a breath to get himself under control again. Derek scooted to the middle of the bed and lay back, kicking off his shoes before his feet were on the bed. “Undo your pants.”

He obeyed with shaking fingers, popping the button and pulling the zipper down. His hips shifted sinuously, putting on a show for Stiles that made his dick leak. “I want to watch you.”

Derek paused and his face looked fierce, like he was seriously pissed off, but Stiles read the expression for what it truly was. Derek was turned on as hell, and it was because of Stiles.

“Come on Derek,” Stiles coaxed, “let me see.”

Derek exhaled a harsh breath and without any further hesitation shoved his hand in his pants and took himself in a firm grip with a shuddering groan, chin kicking up and eyes fluttering closed. He shoved gracelessly at his pants and underwear until they bunched at his hairy thighs – Stiles needed to spend some time putting his mouth on those, and _God_ did he want to come all over them, but that would have to be later – baring himself for Stiles to look his fill.

“That’s it Derek, you look so fucking good,” Stiles choked out, swaying closer without moving his feet. Derek garbled an unintelligible sound, and arched his back. “I’m gonna definitely need you to fuck me later.” Stiles’ hole clenched at the idea of Derek inside of him and he swallowed a groan. “Come on, show me what feels good,” Stiles demanded.

With a grunt Derek tightened his grip on his cock until his knuckles started to blanch, and it had to hurt, but he didn’t let up. His hand was still, like if he dared jack himself he’d come then and there, but his thumb was rubbing frantically over the swollen red head of his cock that peeked through his fist. His other hand finally released its death grip on the sheets as he shoved up his shirt to pinch at his puckered nipple, sucking in a hissing sound through his teeth as he abused it harshly. It was just begging to be bitten and gnawed on. And finally, he eased up his grip and slid his fist up and down the length of his cock in slow, slightly twisting motions, his hips stuttering up to chase his own grip with each pull.

“Stop,” Stiles eventually said, his whole body feeling like it was on fire. He didn’t think he’d ever been this desperate to get inside of someone in his entire life. “Derek stop,” he repeated, louder and firmer this time. His voice finally broke through Derek’s lust fuelled haze because his hips slowed their grinding, and his dazed eyes met Stiles’.

“Now let go.”

Derek actually whimpered as he removed his hands, one grasping at his shirt up by his shoulder, and the other bunching the sheet by his bare thigh. His stomach contracted and distended with his panting breaths, his exposed nipple flushed a painful pink and so fucking hard at made Stiles’ hands twitch.

“Look at you,” Stiles murmured reverently, reaching forward, yanking Derek’s pants and underwear off his legs, and dragging his socks off with them. Derek’s entire lower body was bare and exposed, and so fucking breathtakingly beautiful that Stiles didn’t know where to touch first. He wrapped his hand around the back of Derek’s calf, using the grip to urge his knee up, and Derek jolted like he’d been electrocuted, his back arching up off the bed at Stiles’ touch. Stiles trailed his hand down the inside of Derek’s thigh towards the juncture of thigh and groin, pleased at how Derek’s legs fell open to accommodate him. He leaned in and licked up the length of Derek’s cock, felt it jerk and tasted the precome that leaked from his slit in sticky little beads. It was salty and sharp, but even better than the taste was the wrecked sound Derek made as his hips fucked up, cock questing for the hot suction of a wet mouth.

“Please suck me, please,” Derek begged, shameless in his need. Stiles’ lips hovered over Derek for a moment, before he mouthed wetly at the sensitive underside where the head met shaft, and Derek yelped. Stiles could practically taste the orgasm that was bearing down on Derek, and he slicked his tongue around like Derek’s cock was the sweetest lollypop he’d ever tasted before sucking him down deep in his throat. He could feel Derek shaking as he tried so hard not to come, to be good, to do what he was told to do.

Stiles granted him mercy and relented the deep throating blowjob, instead moving his mouth down to suck one of Derek’s balls into his mouth, giving him a reprieve to let the orgasm roll back, but keeping up some kind of sensation. Derek’s abandoned dick was spasming, and he was pleading quietly under his breath, a litany of curses interspersed with Stiles’ name falling from his lips.

Stiles didn’t care about manners or propriety as he dug around in Derek’s bedside table, finding lube and condoms and shoving Derek’s legs apart so he could kneel before them. He slicked up his fingers and massaged at Derek’s tight little hole without any hesitation, circling his fingertips in a gentle massage before applying just enough pressure to push the tip of his middle finger through. His fingers were slick enough that he slid into Derek’s body with ease, crooking his finger and pressing around until Derek gasped and his eyes rolled back. Stiles took advantage of their positioning and dropped forward so he could get his lips around Derek’s nipple, tugging on it with his teeth and licking away the sting with strokes of his tongue that had Derek panting. His body eagerly sucked in two of Stiles’ fingers, and then three, muscles tight around Stiles’ knuckles even when Derek began to hump his hips, sliding Stiles’ static fingers in and out of his body. The sight of Derek fucking himself on Stiles’ hand was indescribable, right up until it was too much for Stiles to continue to bear. He tugged his fingers from the tight grip Derek had on them and watched Derek close up, bereft and empty, clenching and needing to be filled.

“Come on, come on,” Derek urged as Stiles rolled on a condom with shaky hands. Bossy little bottom. Derek was ready and waiting with a handful of lube to slick him up further, seemingly ready to do anything to get Stiles inside him quicker.

As it turned out, Derek liked to watch. He propped himself up on his elbows, staring down so he could watch as much as he could of Stiles’ cock easing into his body in measured thrusts, his dick leaking wetly where it lolled against his hipbone. He watched until Stiles was fully inside, and then his head fell back with a low groan; Stiles took advantage by biting at his throat and sucking a dirty mark there, just because he could. He could do anything right now, and Derek would love it, they were both so far gone.

He was shoved as deep as he could get, and he used marking Derek up as a chance to catch his breath, to let the desperate urge to rut frantically and come quickly ease up from the vice like clamp it had on his bones. This would be over too fucking fast if he gave in to that, and he wanted this to last. Derek was tight heat and a slick pulse fluttering around him, and he intended to savour it.

“You okay?” Stiles finally checked in, his voice reedy. Derek nodded and Stiles took a moment to just _look_. The roots of Derek’s dark hair were damp with sweat, and his pupils were blown wide, eyes unfocused but intense. A pink sheen had worked its way into his cheeks, and his throat was flushed and littered with violent kiss-bruises. “You’re perfect like this,” Stiles told him in hushed tones, suddenly feeling like he needed to preserve the quiet intimacy of this moment, like it was something to be revered and kept safe.

“Stiles,” Derek whined softly, pressing his nose to Stiles’ jaw and moving his hips in a slow circle. Stiles huffed and met Derek’s movement, starting up a slow roll that soon descended into deep thrusts, each one punctuated with a grind of his hips that massaged at Derek’s prostate. It felt like Derek’s body was gripping to keep him inside each time he pulled back, and it welcomed him back with hot suction when he slid deep. He grabbed Derek’s hands and pinned them above his head, using them as leverage to work himself faster, picking up the pace as Derek started to fuck him back with real unrestrained urgency. “I’m gonna come Stiles, I can’t, I can’t…” Derek panted, pressing his shoulders down into the bed and working his hips faster. It not only felt incredible, but it caused Derek’s sticky wet cock to rub between both of their stomachs. “Stiles, please,” he cried out, voice breaking halfway through.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles panted against Derek’s open mouth; they weren’t capable of much more than sharing breaths and frantic sounds now, too focused on chasing their orgasms to even kiss. “You can come Der, you can come. Fucking come all over us, come on,” Stiles rambled, fucking Derek harder and faster. Derek whined, obviously so incredibly close but needing just a little more. Stiles released one of Derek’s hands, and sought out his nipple, pinching it hard and without warning.

Derek’s whole body seized up, his hips lifting high enough that Stiles had to rear back on his knees and grab Derek’s hip to keep himself inside of him with one hand, the other clutching at one of those deliciously thick thighs. Derek’s cock kicked out pulses of thick white come that splattered his abs and up to stain his shirt where it was still rucked up under his armpits, and his eyes were wide and startled, teeth biting hard on his lower lip. The rhythmic clenching of his body took Stiles over his own edge, and he dropped his mouth open on a loud and pained- sounding groan, squeezing his eyes shut as his body jerked forward, shoving his dick as deep into Derek as he could physically get, burying himself there.

Neither one of them could so much as move for a few minutes, Stiles sitting back on his heels with his dick still inside Derek and slowly softening.

“Holy shit.” Derek got his voice working first, and stared up at the white ceiling sightlessly. “That was… fuck.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, pulling out carefully and wincing at the feeling of his wet dick hanging limp between his legs. He looked down and noticed he was still wearing his pants; in fact, he was fully fucking dressed, but for his sated cock hanging out the V of his fly. His work shirt was sticking to him, and he needed a shower in a bad way. Derek looked just as wrecked, skin shining with sweat and pools of still warm come all over his taut belly. On instinct, Stiles leaned down and licked up one of the spatters on Derek’s stomach, coating his tongue in Derek’s release before reaching up and kissing Derek messily, sharing the taste with him so they could both swallow it down. Derek moaned weakly and gripped a handful of Stiles’ shirt, then looked down at it as though surprised to see it still there. He snorted, probably just now realising Stiles hadn’t gotten even a little bit naked.

“I’m never gonna be able to wear this uniform in public again,” Stiles said ruefully, looking down and busying himself with taking off the condom. He wrapped it in a tissue from the box next to Derek’s bed – with an obnoxious smirk because how unsubtle was that? Even he kept his tissues in the drawer – and tucked himself back into his boxers even though it felt damp and gross. All of him felt damp and gross.

“You can dry clean it,” Derek suggested lazily, unselfconscious in his naked sprawl.

Stiles looked at him flatly. “I was referring more to the memory of fucking you in it. I can’t do my job walking around with a boner, and no way can I wear this outfit without sporting wood. I’m gonna need a new job because of you.”

Derek snorted but looked pleased with himself, and Stiles just had to lean down and kiss him again, softer this time and laced with fondness. He could really fall for this guy if he wasn’t careful. Derek hummed happily as they separated again and began to undo Stiles’ shirt with sluggish fingers. “We should shower,” he explained when Stiles looked at him quizzically. “We’re all gross and stink like sex.”

“Can I borrow something to wear?” He didn’t want to assume, but he would stick around for as long as Derek let him, so he figured clean clothing would be a good idea. Even if he was just getting clean so he could leave, but he really hoped that wasn’t the case.

“Yeah, sure. But remember that I still get to fuck you,” Derek said with a sleepy smile as he eased the shirt down Stiles’ shoulders. “You said I could.”

“I did,” Stiles agreed, throwing his shirt off to the side, and helping Derek wriggle out of his shirt too. Apparently orgasms made Derek adorable and malleable. Stiles was incredibly grateful that he got the chance to learn that fact, and he pressed little closed mouth kisses to Derek’s smiling lips to say thank you in the best way he could.

“And hey, Stiles?” Derek asked, once they were both ambling to the bathroom, Stiles behind Derek with his hands on his shoulders.

“Hmm?”

“You could stick around, for a while. If you wanted. We could hang out.”

Stiles grinned, and finally pressed a kiss to the skin at Derek’s nape, pausing and smiling with his mouth there.

“Yeah, okay. I definitely want.”


	4. Time Goes By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As before... unrelated snippets of Derek/Stiles PwP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this got a bit smutty. 
> 
>  
> 
> Have I mentioned I love bottom!Derek?

He let himself in to the apartment with a weary sigh, his neck knotted and his shoulders tense from spending too many hours hunched over a computer screen and perched on his slightly uneven rolling chair. His white shirt was haphazardly buttoned; he’d shed it sometime around the 16 hour mark, perspiration building up from the generated body heat of too many agents working in one conference room and the air con being on the fritz. Again. His undershirt had at least one mustard stain on it, and he felt so far beyond ripe it wasn’t even funny. 

It would surprise exactly no one that he flopped face first on the sofa after locking up his service weapon and his back up piece (loaded with special hollow tips packed with wolfsbane) in the safe in his wardrobe, followed by a steaming hot shower where he stood under the spray with his hands braced on the wall to prevent face planting against the tile and falling asleep then and there. He could have gone to bed, but the sofa felt much less lonely. 

It would also surprise exactly no one to know he slept for 11 hours solid, woke up with a crick in his neck and so ravenous he was munching on plain crackers even as he put in an order for Thai food. He texted his dad to let him know he was still alive, as per their agreement, and scrolled through Instagram in his tighty whity underpants, but the ones that didn’t have any holes. He huffed when he came across the latest picture Lydia had posted. It couldn’t be denied that she and Derek made a spectacularly beautiful pair. Head-turning, jaw-dropping, double-take kind of beautiful. Her clad in a pair of high waist black pants and a deep green shirt that tied in some kind of knot at her waist, and Derek in washes of ashy greys that made the dusting of grey in his beard look even more distinguished. They were obscene, the two of them. 

He shoved another dry cracker in his mouth, and ignored the twisty feeling in his chest. He was fine. 

The knock on the door interrupted any possible chance of him sitting a moping, and he tugged on a pair of discarded maroon sweatpants, having to tie the knot tight just to keep them up around his hips. The takeout man was drenched; Stiles hadn’t even noticed it was raining. After a cursory greeting and the exchange of goods for money, he set his many, many cartons (he hadn’t eaten in basically a whole day, stop judging) on the breakfast bar and grabbed water from the fridge. 

This time the knock at the door was more unexpected. He figured probably the delivery dude had forgotten something, so he padded back over and swept the door open without a hint of wariness, fully expecting it to be the blond rain-soaked guy again. 

It was a rain soaked guy standing there, to be fair, but not the one he’d been expecting. Hazel eyes met his, narrowed in irritation. “What day is it?” 

“Uh…” Stiles looked around the room and at the floor as though expecting to find some kind of clue. A dark eyebrow hiked up judgementally and Stiles scrunched his nose up in return. “It’s… a day that ends in Y?” 

Derek inhaled heavily and pushed his wet hair back, drawing Stiles’ attention to the way the soaked Henley clung to the curve of his biceps and wow his mouth was dry. 

“You forgot,” Derek informed him accusingly, picking up the duffle bag by his feet. Stiles stepped back to let him through. 

“I forgot?” 

Derek pinned him with a dark look and kicked off his boots. “I had to get in a taxi and it smelled awful. Like people and sweat and puke.” 

Stiles winced and scratched his head, trying to look contrite. “Shit, man, I’m sorry-“ He cut off when a wet clump of material splatted against his face and chest before falling to the floor. Derek was watching him with challenge written all over his face, just daring Stiles to try and back track out of having forgotten yet another promise he’d made because of working too many hours. It was becoming a pattern. Guilt was warring with horniness in Stiles’ stomach because Derek was now unfastening his jeans, shoving them down his thighs and horniness was definitely winning now because Derek’s thighs were thick and perfectly hairy and just so fucking strong. 

He stomped out of the jeans and stood there in grey boxers that were mottled with darker patches where the water had seeped through, staring Stiles’ down. His nostrils flared and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Going to make it up to me?” 

Stiles licked his lips and nodded, felt himself thickening up in his underwear. He never even had to touch himself to get hard around Derek, and he knew Derek loved watching how he’d swell and fill up. Derek was massaging himself roughly through his underwear, but Stiles had gone weeks without this so he pushed Derek’s hand away and dropped to his knees in one motion, hooking his fingers in Derek’s underwear and ripping them down so he could get his mouth where he wanted it. Needed it. 

Derek groaned and clutched his fingers in Stiles’ hair as he sank his mouth down on Derek’s cock hungrily, mouth flooding with saliva to ease the way in a slick slip slide. He blindly reached up and wiggled two fingers, gratified to feel Derek’s mouth immediately on them and getting them nice and wet. They both knew how this would play out. Nasty and quick the first round; they’d have time to slow it down later, but Stiles had zero patience as he eased one finger into Derek’s body, felt the tight clutch of it sucking him in. The sound of Derek’s grunt was music to his ears, and he worked in the second finger just moments after, encouraged by the way Derek opened his legs and braced, his thigh’s going tight under Stiles’ gripping hand. 

“Fuck Stiles,” Derek gritted out, hips juddering forward in little thrusts. He curled forward, hunching and thoroughly using Stiles’ mouth until it was nearly too much for Stiles to take, but Derek never went beyond that point. He always knew, always let Stiles go just in time. Stiles took a heaving breath and hooked his fingers, massaging Derek’s prostate with a firm circular press and wiped the errant drool from his face as he watched the drugging haze of pleasure fogging Derek’s eyes. They flashed blue and he nearly snarled when Stiles removed his hand from between Derek’s legs, standing and shoving him unceremoniously towards the bedroom and the lube. His spit had long dried up and even though he’d leaked enough to have the cotton of his briefs going transparent and clinging to the sticky head, it wasn’t going to be enough. 

Stiles was mesmerized by the flexing of Derek’s bare ass as he followed down the short hallway, and before he knew what was happening he was pinned to the bedroom wall with Derek’s mouth attacking his and a hand shoved in his sweatpants and gripping his dick, jerking it with a tight grip he couldn’t help but try to fuck up into. “God I missed you Der,” he panted, acquiescing to the invasion of Derek’s tongue in his mouth. Derek made a needy sound in his throat and sucked on Stiles’ throat, pushing back when Stiles reached down and dipped his fingers into the seam of Derek’s ass. “I missed you so fucking much.” 

Derek licked over the bite mark and peppered it with soft kisses. “Me too.” 

They didn’t let go of each other as they half waddled to the bed, falling onto in in a heap of groping limbs. Stiles managed to reach over and grab the lube from the bedside table as Derek wriggled around onto his stomach beneath him, ass pressing up insistently. He was needy as fuck, and it still blew Stiles’ mind on the regular that he was the reason why. Lil’ ol’ Stiles Stilinski. 

He made a mess with the lube, but he got himself and Derek well slicked and spent a few moments just massaging around Derek’s hole with the tip of his dick until Derek finally did snarl, turning to glare at Stiles and brimming with impatience. “Stop fucking teasing me and just fucking do it.” 

“You’re so romantic Der,” Stiles snorted, smoothing a hand up Derek’s spine so he could grip on to one shoulder. 

“Stiles -,” Derek warned, voice low and breaking off into an unabashed moan as Stiles pushed inside. Truth be told, he’d needed a minute to get a handle on himself, because feeling Derek tight around him was guaranteed to get him exploding in seconds if he wasn’t careful. It felt like nothing else on this earth, and his entire focus narrowed down to those inches where he was surrounded entirely by Derek’s body and all of its heat. 

It wasn’t going to last. The breaths guttering out of them both were harsh and rasping, so Stiles planted his hands on the bed, threading one through Derek’s and holding on tight, plastered along Derek’s back as he found a rhythm that worked for them both. It was almost more of a grind, but it had Derek near keening and his muscles were working around Stiles like he was trying to milk him dry. Pretty soon he would be. His head dropped forward and his nape was bared for Stiles’ to mouth at, to lap at the taste of Derek’s skin and fill his lungs with the scent he’d been missing for weeks now. He bit down with a scrape of teeth, and felt Derek come in a series of sharp pulsations that had him contracting so tight that Stiles was incapable of anything but mindlessly thrusting in as deep as he could possibly get, emptying himself into Derek with an agonized sound. 

“You haven’t been sleeping here,” Derek mumbled a while later, face mashed into the pillows with Stiles still sprawled across his back and inside, though slowly softening and slipping out. 

“Mghuf,” Stiles mumbled, still deep in post-orgasm incoherence. 

“Stiles.” 

“Ugh,” Stiles whined, rolling over and off Derek. He left a wet trail across the back of Derek’s thigh as he slipped out, and flopped on his back. “I hate sleeping here without you, okay? It doesn’t feel right, and I… I get lonely,” he muttered, resting a forearm over his eyes. 

Derek didn’t speak, so Stiles finally turned his head to look at him, and found Derek on his stomach and staring back with an expression that made Stiles’ heart flutter ridiculously. “I love you,” Derek said easily, reaching out and hooking a hand around Stiles’ bare thigh. “I love you so much, and I need you to take care of yourself.” 

“When did you become the well-adjusted one in this relationship,” Stiles groused, reaching down and putting his hand over Derek’s, lacing their fingers on his leg. 

“Anyone can seem well-adjusted compared to you,” Derek teased, kissing Stiles’ shoulder sweetly. “Did I smell Thai food?” 

“You did.” 

“You don’t like Thai food, Stiles.” 

“But it’s your favourite,” he admitted quietly. 

“And yet you forgot to pick me up from the airport,” Derek snorted, shifting to cage Stiles in with his body. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Stiles smirked and bussed his nose against Derek’s chin, scratching his nose against Derek’s beard. “I love you too boo.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I realised a little while ago that I'd stopped writing for fun, and that just sucked you guys. It sucked. And what better to test out my writing muscles than some good old PWP?! I've been trawling the archives of my old porny blog, and damn I found some doozies, so this might be a few chapters inspired by different pics. Hope you enjoy xx


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